In a wide street in Philadelphia, not far from the Assembly Rooms
where such hot debates were constantly going on, stood an
old-fashioned house, quaintly gabled, above the door of which hung
out a sign board intimating that travellers might find rest and
refreshment within.

The whole house was spotlessly clean, and its aspect was prim and
sober, as was indeed that of the whole city. Men in wide-brimmed
hats and wide-skirted coats of sombre hue walked the streets, and
talked earnestly together at the corners; whilst the women, for the
most part, passed on their way with lowered eyes, and hoods drawn
modestly over their heads, neither speaking nor being spoken to as
they pursued their way.

To be sure there were exceptions. In some quarters there were
plenty of people of a different aspect and bearing; but in this
wide and pleasant street, overlooked by the window of the hostelry,
there were few gaily-dressed persons to be seen, but nearly all of
them wore the dress and adopted the quaint speech of the Quaker
community.

From this window a bright-faced girl was looking eagerly out into
the street. She wore a plain enough dress of grey homespun cloth,
and a little prim cap covered her pretty hair. Yet for all that
several little rebellious curls peeped forth, surrounding her face
with a tiny nimbus; and there was something dainty in the fashion
of her white frilled kerchief, arranged across her dress bodice and
tied behind. She would dearly have loved to adorn herself with some
knots of rose-coloured ribbon, but the rose tints in her cheek gave
the touch of colour which brightened her sombre raiment, and her